


Room 312

by theythinkimabitch



Category: The Blacklist (US TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:14:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23488174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theythinkimabitch/pseuds/theythinkimabitch
Summary: Just a drabble prompt from Tumblr gone wild and posted here eons later."I've seen the way you look at me when you think I don't notice."
Relationships: Elizabeth Keen/Raymond Reddington
Comments: 6
Kudos: 70





	Room 312

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meetmeatthecoda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meetmeatthecoda/gifts).



Again they found themselves in a situation quite familiar to them both.

“We might have a problem.”

It was a part of life. _Their_ life, at least.

“Aram ran a background check on the guest list.”

Mayhem and illustrious adventures seemed to be one and the same.

“Apparently…”

It was all in the best of ways, of course. Because after a life in intelligence, normal had become boring, and as Raymond Reddington would affirm to anyone who _dared_ to question him, he was anything _but_ boring.

“Hey,” Liz breathed out, as she secured her earrings, “Don’t you look nice?”

Raymond himself turned right around, smoothing his hands over his tux, preparing a smile reserved just for her before it quickly fell away. 

Nice was a word to describe him. But being the gentleman that he was, Red found himself struggling for quite a while to provide even just a moderately intelligible response. 

_The thing was, you see…_

“Ah…”

_As a matter of fact…_

“Hm…”

“You alright there?” she quipped.

_Oh, seeing her smile and watching her blue eyes twinkle only made speaking all the more difficult._

“Cat got your tongue?”

Laughter. Laughter was good. 

Laughter wasn’t quite what managed to fall out, but Red figured it was close enough.

“Lovely, Lizzie.”

Her eyebrows rose on her forehead, red lips twisting in a tampered smile as she waited for further explanation.

“You look lovely.”

Then came the nod. Her smile wasn’t gone quite yet--nor would he have wished for it to ever fade–-but she let out a hum of appreciation, walking over to the mantle to grab the last-minute necessities.

“Ready?” Liz questioned, preparing herself with a roll of her shoulders and a look of classy determination.

“Ah, yes,” Red replied, eyes snapping back up quickly to meet her own, an excitement of his own filtering through his veins, “And oh, we mustn’t forget your clutch, Lizzie. It’s very important.”

It was very important, indeed, Liz had decided. For, after all, cloning their target’s phone would prove to be quite the challenge without the pocket sniffer Aram had given her. And even as she gracefully took Red’s extended arm, she couldn’t help but think about the last time she’d brought a clutch and how much he’d liked it then.

* * *

There tended to be two schools of thought when it came to partaking in more dubious enterprises. As it were, this act in which the pair partook was decidedly not as black and white as they could have hoped. That was, as a matter of fact, why they had been chosen to go together.

Despite his insistence that there were better and more useful ways his night could be spent–-he was hard-pressed to think of any; it was his same insistence after all that had the task force infiltrating the group at a dance and not out and about as the FBI preferred to do-–Donald’s adamance that what they were doing was wrong, illegal, morally reprehensible had forced Cooper to force Red to join the party.

Harold himself had been counting on Red’s typical discretion in similar matters to keep Agent Keen from harm’s way and grab the intel seamlessly. 

The issue was, however, those two schools of thought.

Despite Red’s secret appreciation for the most flamboyant and over the top manners of distraction-–as a matter of fact, he hadn’t been hit on by an awful Algerian-–Red hadn’t prepared himself for Lizzie's chosen method of execution. 

_Oh, no._

Red had fully anticipated needing to coax Lizzie out of her shell. Having to tease boundaries, and practice once more their mental milonga until the fun had been had and the job had been done in the most inexcusable and roundabout of ways.

But Red was then left with all these tricks up his sleeve and no way to execute them. He was about ready to slip through the night undetected, to complete the task to what he hoped would be Lizzie’s frustrated approval, and declare the night a rueful success.

_He so loved to see her flustered._

Lizzie, as it turned out, was one that came armed with her own set of distractions.

He should’ve learned. 

Between the daring red dress of times prior and the delectable blonde hair of ages before, he should’ve learned by then the way Lizzie operated. 

Lizzie worked best on her own. Lizzie had garnered all the attention the moment she walked in, sashaying around the venue with unbridled confidence and poise, a hint of mysterious intrigue enough to lure prospects from all around.

It was then Red had decided to venture out on his own, watch her lovingly from afar, eyes latched onto the masterpiece that slipped throughout the museum as he mingled casually around the bar, drink ready for her on the chance she decided for herself she was ready to settle down.

“Is that for me?” came the question, not a moment too soon.

“Well, aren’t you presumptuous?” he asked, soaking in another glance at the flushed adrenaline-powered glow their mission provided her with.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she apologized, not sorry at all, as evidenced by the way she pulled the glass up to her lips, batting her long lashes coquettishly over the rim, “Is an Aviation Cocktail a trick you use on all the ladies?”

He couldn’t help but laugh in response, shifting over in his barstool, turning his attention to focus, as it often did, on nothing but her, “Lizzie, you underestimate me.”

“Is that so?” she asked, swallowing and placing her drink back on the black coaster.

“Some girls such as yourself are winters, not autumns and must be adjusted for accordingly.”

“And it tasting like spring?” she wondered, “Don’t tell me your plan hinges on us winters enjoying the change of pace.”

She was brilliant, and that was all Red could manage to think. Being in love with a profiler didn’t allow for very many thinly veiled secrets.

“Is the mission now officially accomplished?” Red diverted.

He couldn’t have her knowing all of his secrets now.

She looked away, smile still on her face, a gentle glow appearing that had made him uneasy. 

“Do you really care?” she asked finally, her elbow resting on the table as she focused solely on him, “You didn’t just want to come to the party?”

“Oh, I wanted to come to the party, Lizzie,” he assured, deciding that honesty would perhaps be just as likely to catch her off guard, “But the plan was to come with you.”

It was his turn to be sipping on his drink letting the other stew. Scotch on the rocks, for a man such as himself. He let her look at him as he smiled comfortably, reaching for the bowl of pretzels he’d been munching on.

He so did love pretzels.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”

It seemed honesty was a thing neither was quite used to.

“I know you’ve been watching me the whole time, Raymond.”

Came with the territory of life on the run, he supposed.

Red smiled, turning back to her, grinning in the tight-lipped way he often did when Lizzie had him pinned down before he’d expected to have all his tricks so hastily revealed.

How could anyone focus on anything but her? Amidst the Picassos and Rembrandts, Elizabeth Keen was the one masterpiece Raymond Reddington wouldn’t be able to survive without.

“You look utterly ravishing, sweetheart.”

He figured honesty hour had come at long last.

“I know, I do,” she responded quite proudly.

_How he loved her so very much._

“Question is, Raymond.”

_Oh, she knew the way he loved to hear her whisper his name._

“What are you going to do about it?”

He sat dumbfounded for a moment, frozen as he felt her lips brush against the corner of his own. He couldn’t help but lean into the burst of sunlight spreading across his face, let his eyes flutter shut so as to capture all that he could.

The buzz of the room, the feel of her lips. He was blessed by her presence near every day now, but having her lips glide for an ephemeral second over his own was something else. Something rare, something special. A gift to be guarded and a moment to always remember.

“Party ended a while ago,” she managed to say for the last time, “And going undercover isn’t nearly as fun when you’re not involved.”

All he had when he opened his eyes was the final gust of intoxicating perfume that accompanied the sudden breeze of her absence. 

_Now, where had she run off to?_

He blinked quickly and sighed sadly–-he’d take what he could get–-before looking down at his glass and moving the straw around as he lifted the glass for another sip.

_Well, that surely hadn’t been there before._

He reached for her clutch and frowned as he opened it.

Leaving the evidence behind was a rookie mistake; Lizzie was far better than that.

_Room 312. I’ll be waiting._

A laugh fell from his lips as the clutch snapped shut. Perhaps she was right, maybe the party hadn’t begun just yet.

He waved to the bartender, bade adieu to a few friends, suddenly determined unlike ever before to leave the fine establishment. As it turned out, there were better ways to spend the night than by partaking in an operation to clone data. Much better ways, indeed.


End file.
